


Steady hand, kind heart

by GreenSocks



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Caring, Consensual, Daddy Kink, Gen, He's a nice daddy, Spanking, Sugar Daddy, Tried to do it general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 04:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11372676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenSocks/pseuds/GreenSocks
Summary: Sometimes you just need to be cared for.





	1. Undone

**Author's Note:**

> Not an English speaker, sorry in advance. Tried my best no to assign a gender to the reader. The daddy feels hit me hard.

The spare key clinked strong against the door in the middle of the night. With the normality of a man who has done this already a hundred of times, Martin came inside the dark apartment, where the only lights were blueish from the bedroom at the end of the hallway. The white and orange cat scratched his ears against his black trousers in a friendly greeting, getting past him to his place near a close window.

 

His dark brown -now in the middle of the darkness, black- shoes gave a soft noise against the floor while he was getting close to the only bedroom with lights on. Passing his left hand through his grey-ash blond hair combed in a perfect wave, he opened the white door, looking at you sitting on your bed tipping on your laptop.

 

“How long have you been working?” he asked with a soft smile, undoing his jacket while he walked towards you “I’m sorry I came by this late, I’d to finish a take and the director wasn’t having it ‘ _his way_ ’”

 

You smiled at him, trying not to fade and tell him the truth, closing the tabs on twitter and several blogs instead of your paper. Martin squinted his eyes not having it, lifting his light blond eyebrows and moving his jaw side to side in a sign of -pretend- anger.

 

“What did you tell me this morning? ‘ _I gotta finish this work by today or tomorrow I’ll be fucked’_. Do you thought I forgot about it? Do I look that old?” he moved his head and took a few steps back to the door, opening it “The couch.”

 

You knew what that meant. You knew that at any time you could say no, you could say just one word to stop him (this was your game, him and yours) but the thrill of it made It _so_ exciting. You closed your laptop to a soft _click_ and stood next to your bed.

 

“Follow me. We’ve to do this, baby. I just want you to understand what happens when you don’t do what you tell me you’d to.”

 

The floor was cold against your feet, you could even feel it against your socks. Martin guided you -you both knew what was coming- with his warm hand against your lower back to the couch. He sat first, near the middle, pointing at his lap where you tried to sit.

 

“Come on baby, don’t be shy” he asked you with his look, his eyes shining with the lights of the street that came from the windows “at least you don’t want to” he ended softly, relaxing his posture, not being your daddy for a moment but Martin.

 

“No, daddy, you’re right. I told you what you’d to do if I didn’t accomplish it” with shyness, you bend your knees near his left legs and adjust your body to a comfortable position, feet against one of the sofa’s armrest and your hands against the other.

 

His calloused hands caressed the back of your legs, moving slowly from behind your knees to your bum, while his other arm gave you a comfortable rest to the weight of your chest and arms. His strong perfume in the air, his almost-ginger beard touching your hair, his strong legs under your body, all of him, in that moment for you.

 

“Is ten a good number?” he asked with a rough voice, looking at down at you with piercing navy blue eyes, his left hand stopping at the middle of your butt.

 

“Yes, daddy” inhaling fast you felt his hand rough, giving a little shift  “please, softer.”

 

“Are you suggesting daddy doesn’t know how to take care of his baby? I’m giving you just what you need. Now, count, loud and clear before I feel like you’re making fun of me…” 

“Never, daddy” with a hint of a smile, knowing he smiled too, you started counting.


	2. Tantrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, no native English speaker. No one likes noisy neighbours.

The clink of the key chain against the door would’ve been a little off-putting if the streets’ noises weren’t so high. Taking a deep breath at the third time trying to open the damn door, stopped trying when someone talked from inside.

 

“Just wait, stop trying you too-“ said the familiar voice in a familiar low tune, probably trying not to laugh at you.

 

Taking the keys off and crossing your arms, the door opened.

 

Frowning at the smell of spices and heat coming from inside, Martin with his toothy grin and silver swoop tried not to laugh and moved so you could pass inside.

 

“Sorry, didn’t hear you before, music too loud” knowing the mood from just one look, waited for you to take off your bag and jacket to close the door behind you, putting his hand on your lower back to take you to the kitchen.

 

Not all the lights were on and the kitchen yellow lights looked shiny from the dark living room. Inside, you sat on the free counter while he came back to the pot brewing in the kitchen. When he took the cap off, the smell of a tomato sauce filled the kitchen.

 

“I’ve been trying to taste if I put too much rosemary on it but I can’t notice. Can you help me?” he went to the table behind where a fresh baguette was placed.

 

Taking a sharp knife, he started to cut the bread in diagonal slices, doing his best no to spread crumbs everywhere, began asking for your day.

 

“Is everything fine? We can skip it if you don’t feel like talking about it” he raised his eyebrows at the cat smelling the crumbs under the table but not even trying to put him aside.

 

Taking a slice he came back to the cooking pot, dipping it and putting a hand under it to not make a mess, getting close to you to take a taste. Doing a spontaneous little cough tried to mask the way he couldn’t avoid licking his lips while you tasted it, smiling lightly.

 

“Yeah? See, I got a little carried away…” he whispered, adding sugar to dismiss the acid side of the cut tomatoes, moving the content and closing the cooking pot.

 

“You know, you always can text me and tell me you don’t feel good so I can totally give you a surprise when you come back home” he said while he unbuttoned his shirt’s wrists, folding his sleeves so he could grate cheese.

 

Feeding you with a bit of cheese, he kept grating, making is swoop moving a bit “I’ll gratinate some eggplant with that sauce, and the dessert is on the freezer”

 

After cleaning his hands he came back to you, caressed your tights giving a little hint to move them so he could stand between there, caressing your face first to know if it was all right to kiss you.

 

After the silent check, he began to kiss you playing with your hair first to then moving his hands down to your neck, closing them a bit around it to then look at you close with a slight frown supplying his serious face.

 

“Next time you better be a _good girl_ and tell me if you need me, no _hints_ , no _cursing the keys_ and bothering the neighbours, am I being clear?” the ‘ _baby girl_ ’ implicit in the hair.

 

Lazy Fridays were the best.


	3. Focus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm shameless. But the idea was Andi's. Good gal, that one.

The document is important. Really. Big deal. But for reasons, keeping eyes on the screen and your fingers typing is as hard as hot showers on a hot day in middle summer or squinting eyes when staring at the sun without sunglasses.

 

Frowning and not giving away where your eyes actually were, moved your hands to the cool glass of water next to you, taking a sip, pretending to watch where to put the glass back and not the chef in front of you, giving you his back.

 

There was no one but yourself to blame, you never worked in the kitchen table and he knows it. But he never cooks _like that_ so it’s not that big of a deal. There was a main course and you were _starving_.

 

The blinking cursor doesn’t stop moving at the middle of the sentence that you don’t know how to end or actually where it came from in the first place. Moving your head both sides to stretch your neck muscles and holding your chin on your left hand helped you to move eyes discreetly from his calves to the back of his knees.

 

His movements were minimal while he cut parsley with ease, his shoulders unwittingly swayed to the soft jazz in the background mixed with the sharp movements of his hands chopping. His left hand put down the small axe to accommodate his hair with his forearm, exhaling in a sigh.

 

“How is it doing? Do you need much more time?” he asked casually, moving the parsley from the cutting board to a little bowl and then leaving the utensils to clean in the sink. Even when he was giving you the view of his back, and ass, there was no way to stop looking at it, you could see his laugh, knowing that he’d you where he wanted you to be.

 

“I’m fine” you assured, pretending to be writing again, typing words from nowhere. There was no reason for him to know that you were indeed writing something important. Maybe he does know. Doesn’t matter.

 

“Really? You seem to have stopped for a while. I hope I’m not being a bother” he turned around with a dish towel in his hands, scrubbing his hands and smiling.

 

Lifting an eyebrow, you watched him to his face -even when the most appealing was down- and gave him a strained smile “it’s fine, the… noise of you chopping really helps me to… focus”

 

He wasn’t buying it, no one would, not with him wearing only an orange apron on and smiling confident against the counter. He threw the cloth somewhere in the kitchen (not important) striking a pose beautiful to any painter (important) to then putting his hands behind of him to steady himself against the counter and stretching is legs towards you and crossing them at the ankles (very important).

 

“Is there any way I can help you? Work is important” he licked his own lips in slow motion to then giving you a grin.

 

The minimal movements of his legs to accommodate his new position made you aware of the bulge that the fabric framed. Caressed. Caressed? Fabric could do that? You moved your eyes as quickly as you could (slow) back to his face where he smiled even bigger (slower).

 

“Not really, I mean, not at the moment, I’m doing good--can I help _you_?” the response came quickly, blurted without thinking. But were you thinking since you came inside the kitchen a few hours ago?

 

“Yes, _you can_ ” he said dangerously, accommodating his semi-interested erection, moving his hands to his back to undo the little notch and letting it fall in front of him. “We don’t want your knees to be hurt, do we?”

 

 

Always nice to give a hand.

**Author's Note:**

> To my beta (and prompt bunny), Andrea.


End file.
